


Blackway - Epilogue (and possible continuance)

by lunaficsforbadflics (lalunaunita)



Category: Blackway (2015)
Genre: And maybe I'll write even more after this if I feel like it, Epilogue, F/M, Gen, Lillian and Nate talk a bit, Self-serving fan fiction, What happens after the movie?, When you like a movie and wish there was more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-23 06:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16153325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalunaunita/pseuds/lunaficsforbadflics
Summary: Lillian and Nate have just dropped old Lester off at his home after the fateful events of the night before. Blackway won't be bothering Lillian - or anyone - ever again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A continuance from the final scenes of the film Blackway (also titled Go With Me), which apparently no one else liked, but I really liked it and I really like Lillian and Nate.  
> This text won't make a lot of sense without watching the movie, which is a PG-13 small town thriller about a trio forced to take the law into their own hands. Based on the novel Go With Me, which I'm about to read because I liked the movie so much. So characterization here is strictly from the movie, not the novel.

Lillian’s breath puffed out to block her view of the road as she coasted into town in Nate’s old truck. It didn’t have heat anymore, and she was grateful for the extra vest Nate had lent her the night before - the night that had only just ended and that they had only just survived. She tried very hard not to think about the lengths she’d gone to, to get her sanity and safety back in her own keeping. It helped, knowing that Les and Nate had gone to the same lengths - no, further, she thought. Despite herself, images of Richard Blackway’s corpse rose up in her mind. She blinked them away.

“Do you want to go home, Nate? Is your mom going to be upset seeing you like this?” She glanced away from the road long enough to take in Nate’s bruised and bloody face, scrunched down in his heavy coat. She probably didn’t look much better, she thought.

“Uh, it’s alright. I d-don’t mind staying at Lester’s ‘til the worst of it heals up. Let’s get you d-dropped off. You’re tired.” He laughed. “Les is tired. I’m tired. Just need sleep.”

Lillian gave a curt nod and accelerated. They had already stopped at Les’ home on the edge of town. He had let them in for a brief moment, then dismissed them with a tired wave at the door.

They passed through the middle of town shortly after dawn. The grocery store, the elementary school, the Sheriff’s office all flew past, the thin light of a winter sun leaching their life and color. Nate didn’t say anything further, not even when she stopped short in her own driveway, shifted to park, and killed the engine. She left the keys in the ignition.

Wearily pushing open the old, heavy truck door, she stepped out gingerly, putting most of her weight on her good leg. Lillian was lucky, she knew that. The glass shard that had pierced her thigh hadn’t gone in very deep. She’d walked down an entire mountain before dawn on the leg. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. She wasn’t looking forward to peeling off her old jeans and thoroughly cleaning the wound. She should do it before falling asleep, not after.

Lillian startled at a hand under her elbow and looked up. Nate was beside her, supporting her up the walk to her porch. She couldn’t see his eyes with his head down so low and all the blood and debris stuck to his face.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly as they reached her door.

Nate shrugged and turned to go.

“Wait,” Lillian called after him. He stopped, one foot on the steps. “I um, have a really good first aid kit - long story - do you maybe want to come in and I can clean you up?”

Nate stared at her.

“It’s the least I can do,” she finished.

Nate turned back and trudged up the steps. Lillian pulled her keys from her jacket pocket. Their jingling jarred her senses as she unlocked her mother’s house and let them in. She nearly called out to the cat, but stifled the urge, too tired to feel the revulsion and fear Blackway’s horrific transgression brought forth. Nate clumped in behind her. She led him to the kitchenette and pulled out one of the old chrome-and-vinyl chairs that went with her mother’s formica table. Lillian didn’t wait to see if Nate seated himself before heading to the bathroom for a long-overdue piss. She washed well and grabbed her kit from the linen closet.

“You should take off your coat,” Lillian told the tall young man in her kitchen. “Does anything hurt other than your head?”

Nate shook his head no as he laconically removed his outerwear and folded it neatly over the back of another kitchen chair. Lillian wet a washcloth and filled a bowl with water, then set it and the kit on the table. She seated herself in front of Nate. He lifted his chin away from his blood-stained collar to let her have a look. Everything was dried and he wasn’t bleeding anymore. She was surprised to see that the cuts and abrasions seemed fairly minor; he wouldn’t need stitches like she’d thought. She wrung out the wash cloth and started on his face.

“You’re um, really brave, Lillian. Jumping on Blackway like you d-did,” Nate mumbled as she gently sponged the blood off.

“Who’s Blackway?” Lillian responded wearily, echoing Lester with the ghost of a smile on her lips.

She tried to stay gentle, despite her exhaustion. Nate winced a bit anyway.

“I’m sorry,” she said, slowing her ministrations.

“S’alright.”

“The good new is, you don’t need stitches.” Nate gave the barest twitch of a smile at the news. She watched him a bit as she worked. He was tall and broad, but hunched in on himself, like he was trying to hide his size. He looked ghastly with his swollen, black eyes and the cuts and gashes over his forehead and cheekbones. His prominent nose emerged undamaged, however. He was probably kind of handsome when he wasn’t beat up. He just needed to stand up straight, Lillian thought. She blinked, remembering he’d just killed a man with his bare hands a few hours prior.

She pulled sterile gauze and tape from her kit and fixed up the worst of Nate’s injuries.

“Anything on your hands? Arms? Anything else?” Lillian asked as she stood.

Nate gave a brief shake of his head.

“You need to look at your leg,” he reminded her.

“Oh. Right.” Lillian glanced down at her blood-soaked jeans and makeshift bandage. Somehow, the ache had become familiar as the morning stretched on. “I’ll take care of it in the bathroom.”

Nate didn’t follow her. She stopped only to grab a loose pair of pajama pants from her dresser and closeted herself inside her tiny old washroom with the first aid kit.

The process of untying the knotted bandage and getting her dirty jeans off was about as unpleasant as expected. She cleaned up and was surprised to find that her cut wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d thought. It was closing up well, even though she’d broken it back open getting the pants off. She dabbed away dirt and fibers, applied antibiotic and butterfly closures. She took a few gentle steps to test it. Satisfied, she pulled on the pajamas.

The sun was fully up when she came back out into the kitchen, illuminating the old glass windows with a cheerful glow. It only reminded Lillian of how tired she felt. She was surprised to find Nate still seated by the kitchen table.

“You okay? D-do you need a d-doctor?” he asked.

“Fortunately, no. Um, thanks. You didn’t have to wait,” she replied, her brow furrowed.

She didn’t quite know how to tell him to leave. She wanted to go to sleep. She could sleep for days, in fact. Then another image of Blackway’s surprised and contorted face bubbled to the surface and she wasn’t at all sure she’d sleep a wink.

“D-do you want me to stay? In case of nightmares?” Nate asked.

Lillian took in his bowed posture, hands clutching the sides of his oversized flannel shirt, head down but eyes tilted to meet hers. She pursed her lips.

“I’ll make up the couch,” she replied.


	2. New Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate, Lillian, and Lester continue to live after Blackways' death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got a miracle of a comment on the first chapter, and it changed my mind about posting more!

Lillian’s dreams were a jumble of noises and Blackway’s angry blue eyes. Angry eyes, angry hands that snatched at her as she ran through endless forests. Every breath of cold air was a knife slicing her lungs. Her legs and feet ached, and yet, she didn’t fall. She felt hard, sharp fingers that closed around her bicep and she screamed.

Her room slid into view around her, the forest gone but the fingers real.

“Back off!” she gasped, slapping out with her free hand.

She made contact and caught sight of Nate scrambling back as her eyes focused. He grunted and sat on his haunches by her bedside.

“What is it?” Lillian asked, wishing she could change the sharpness in her tone. But her heart was pounding, a roar in her ears driven by fear and adrenaline.

“Sheriff called. He has questions about the fire from yesterday,” Nate said, rubbing his hair where Lillian had hit him.

“You answered my phone?”

“No, heard-d it on the message machine. Sorry I scared you. You were yelling.”

Lillian bit her lip. “Sorry I hit you, Nate. Did Sheriff Wingate want to talk to you, too?”

“D-don’t know. Probably. My phone’s d-dead. ” Nate grinned at her.

He picked himself up off the floor and left her room. Lillian sighed. Her alarm clock said it was 3:32 pm; she’d slept longer than she thought. She debated whether to call in for her evening shift at Sullivan’s tonight and decided against it. The more normal she seemed, the better.

Lillian came downstairs showered and dressed, her wet hair pulled back in a french braid. Nate looked up from where he was seated on the couch when she walked in.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked her guest.

He nodded. She tossed a bundle onto the couch next to him.

“I like to sleep in men’s XL shirts, so you’re lucky. You can keep that one. You’re welcome to use the facilities. I’m going down to the Sheriff’s office and then...I’ll be back.” She shrugged and left.

Lillian had bundled up with coat, hat, and mittens, since her car was still up at the logging company office. She’d have to get it towed to Barney’s next...and figure out a ride to Sullivan’s. Maybe Nate. Probably Nate, unless he had to get home. The Sheriff’s office was about a half a mile away. Her thigh felt sore, but not painful. Within a few minutes, its dull ache had receded enough that she could ignore it and enjoy the bright afternoon sunshine and the crisp air that surrounded her.

The world felt open in a way it hadn’t for weeks. She didn’t jump at the sound of leaves skittering on the pavement, or a shadow falling across the road. _He’s dead, and no one will find him_ , she told herself, inhaling a deep, sweet breath of air. That was what Lester had assured them. She had no reason to doubt it.

She took the steps up the walk two at a time, remembering just before she reached the door that she was still, technically, the victim of stalking. She curbed the lightness of heart that winter’s beauty had brought her. A mere 36 hours ago, she’d been in this office with her dead cat, been informed that she had no recourse but to leave Enderby. That sobered her up as she twisted the knob and entered Sheriff Wingate’s small building.

The older man sat at his desk amid stacks of paperwork, coffee mug rings staining several items near his elbow. He looked up, his expression of wary recognition likely mirrored on Lillian’s face as she crossed the room and seated herself.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

She didn’t dislike the man - yet - but she was was on the fence about it. He’d brushed her off yesterday when she’d sat in the very same chair, her decapitated cat bundled in a towel in her arms. She knew the score now, knew how Blackway had controlled this town with fear and violence. Knew how powerless Wingate had been against him.

Sheriff Wingate cleared his throat and sat back, retrieving a small pad of paper from his shirt pocket. “We have reason to believe you were present at the motel fire on Willowby St. yesterday. Can you tell me what you saw?”

Lillian blinked. Too late, she realized that she and Nate and Les should have coordinated a story. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, looking up and to the left as she shook her head. Left for facts, right for lies, that was what they did in TV shows. She hoped she hadn’t mixed it up.

“No, sir, I wasn’t there. I heard it was pretty bad, though? Did anybody die?” Genuine concern threaded her tone.

They hadn’t meant to start a fire at all, just get a solid lead on Blackway’s location. In fact, she’d been in another room when Nate and Les had somehow ignited the motel kitchenette, freeing her friend Trudy from literal captivity.

Wingate eyed her. “It’s an ongoing investigation, I can’t comment. So you aren’t a witness? Not present at the scene?”

“No.” Lillian wondered if she should add more, but feared she might mix truth into the lie and end up fielding more questions.

“Alright, young lady. Did you ever talk to Scotty like I recommended?” Wingate slapped his pad closed and returned it and the pen to his pocket.

“I went up and talked to Whizzer, but Scotty’s out of town or something,” Lillian mumbled. “I have to get ready for work. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“That’ll do. Have a safe evening.”

She checked her eye roll, saving it until her back was turned. _I will, no thanks to you_.

Lillian fumed all the way home, but a better humor surfaced when she saw Nate’s truck was still in her driveway. Surely he had better places to be, but she didn’t feel like questioning him about it. He might leave. Even though they hadn’t talked about last night on the mountain - and she didn’t intend to, she realized curiously - it felt better to be near someone who’d experienced it like she had. She could hear the TV on as she approached her door, but Nate wasn’t on the couch when she walked in. Her eyes darted about instinctively, settling when he popped his head out of the kitchen.

“You want tea? You have a lot,” he commented.

“Yeah,” she replied, blowing out the breath she’d been holding.

“Went to check on Les, but he wasn’t there.” Nate shrugged, dangling a tea bag over a mug as she stood in the kitchen doorway. She could hear the gathering rush of steam in her kettle as it sat atop blue flame.

“Is he okay?”

“Oh, sure. He d-does what he likes. He’ll turn up.”

“He _was_ shot. Do you think he went to the hospital?” Lillian frowned as Nate shook his head. Maybe they should find him and make him go to the doctor. She’d only known the man for a day, but she’d never forgive herself if he fell ill or died of his injuries. Injuries he’d sustained on her behalf. She opened her mouth to suggest they search for him, but the kettle whistled and an unfamiliar cell phone on her counter rang simultaneously.

Nate twisted off her gas stove and picked up the phone.

“Charged it. Hope you d-don’t mind,” he said as he thumbed open the call.

Lillian shook her head and took up the job of readying the mugs of tea. She heard Nate greet his mother behind her and converse in his quiet, clipped manner. She smiled as he told a half-truth about being in a bar fight, and a full lie about staying with Lester.

Lillian gathered honey and a spoon and brought everything to the table. Nate finished his call. He sat down adjacent to Lillian at the kitchen table, torso looming over its chrome edge and big feet peeking out from underneath. Neither of them used the honey. They sipped in silence and stared out Lillian’s kitchen window. Nate had bathed and was wearing the clean shirt, though his jeans were still the same pair from the previous day.

“Oh,” Lillian said quietly after a minute. “I told Wingate I wasn’t at Willowby Street yesterday. He didn’t ask about you or Les.”

One eyebrow raised, Nate nodded and resumed his tea.

“I felt like, you know, it doesn’t look good if it comes out we were looking for… _him_ , and then not only there’s a fire, but he doesn’t ever come back…” she trailed off, unsure why she was explaining herself.

“D-do you need a ride to work?” Nate asked.

Lillian latched onto the change of subject, grateful. “Yes. Thanks.”

She changed for work and came back down. Her shift was from six to midnight. Nate let the truck idle in front of Sullivan’s entrance as Lillian gathered her purse.

“Be back at twelve,” he promised.

“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that. I’ll get Kevin or Sally to give me a ride.” She took the long step down from the cab of Nate’s truck.

Nate didn’t say anything, just let her shut the door then drove away. Lillian immediately felt his absence and thought how odd that was. Maybe it was her way of processing trauma, clinging to someone or something that made her feel safe. But it was past time to get back to normal, she decided. She lifted her chin and marched into work, the place where all her troubles had started one week ago.

The crowd was sparse for six o’clock, but Lillian had no doubt Sullivan’s would liven up as the evening progressed. She caught sight of a head fringed with white hair at the bar. A nervous grin split her lips.

“Les!” she called as she hurried up. She only barely avoided his shoulders as she enveloped him in a hug. Les turned stiffly toward her.

“Lillian,” he smiled. “Very good to see you.”

“Yes, and you,” she laughed. He was so polite.

Her smile dropped away as she remembered her conversation with Sheriff Wingate. She lowered her tone and leaned in to his ear.

“The Sheriff heard I was at Willowby Street yesterday. He didn’t mention you or Nate. I told him I wasn’t there.”

Les gave a short nod and she leaned back, satisfied. Les wouldn’t do anything to put them in danger - well, anything more than he already had. Her expression must have held a sardonic cast, because Les raised both eyebrows at her.

“Better go to work, eh?” he asked cryptically.

Lillian took the hint and clocked in. She wanted to ask Les whether he’d been to a doctor for his wounds, but never got the chance to return to his seat at the bar. Eventually, she looked up from one of her tables and saw that he was gone. She sighed. She’d just have to call him later.

They closed up at ten after midnight, allowing a few late patrons to finish their drinks and pay. Lillian nearly sensed the rumble of Nate’s truck before she heard it. She shook her head and smiled to herself.

“What’s up?” Sally asked as she counted down the till.

“Nothing. I’m covered for a ride home. Thanks anyway, though.” Lillian went back to mopping, pointedly ignoring Sally’s curious look out the window to see who was in the parking lot.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Lillian found herself buying enough food for two at the grocery store. She didn’t know why. Nate had spent another night on her couch and gone back to work that morning. His face was still pretty beat up, but she expected he would return home now that the worst was healing.

Back home that evening, she set about making her family-famous pasta sauce - fresh chopped onions, fresh herbs, fresh garlic. Lillian loved cooking on her days off, when she had all the time in the world. The house was redolent with the smells of delicious Italian food when she heard a knock at her door. Heart pounding, she reminded herself that she was safe now. She set down her knife, but thought better of it. She came to the front door, knife held behind her back, and peeped around the curtain. It was Nate. _Of course it’s Nate_ , she chided herself.

She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied, slouching awkwardly in her doorway.

“I’m making dinner. Are you hungry?”

Nate wiped his feet on the mat and walked in. And just like that, Lillian felt safe again.

\---------------------------------------------------------

The next week, rumors about the meth lab fire on Willowby Street were traded all over town. Lillian heard that fifteen had died, that none had died, that Blackway and his bookkeeper Murdoch had been there, that they hadn’t been there. At first, the name Blackway was whispered in tones so low one might have believed he’d be summoned, like a demon, if someone was caught saying his name. When he didn’t show up for two weeks, people spoke more confidently. And when the report on the Willowby Street fire was made public after a month, everyone felt sure Blackway and Murdoch must have died there - even if the forensic results were ‘inconclusive’.

Lillian, Les, and Nate listened but they didn’t talk, even amongst themselves. They had dinner together one night each week and talked about anything - everything - else. Les was far from the dour old man Lillian had originally thought him to be - he was clever with his words and usually had her howling over coffee and pie after dinner. Even Nate grinned into his mug as Les shared tales from his long logging career.

Despite owning his own vehicle, Les usually got a ride home from Nate. After dessert, the three would ruefully check the clock above Lillian’s pantry and Les would put on his coat and all three would agree to meet the next week for more of Lillian’s cooking.

Invariably, Nate’s headlights reappeared in the window of her front room twenty minutes later, just as she was tucking sheets around her couch cushions and setting a pillow and blanket nearby.

Nate told his mother he’d moved in with Lester, and it was kind of true but kind of not. His possessions were at Lester’s. The official story was that Lester needed help with a few things around the house and offered cheap rent in trade. The real story was that Lillian still found it hard to sleep without another human under her roof.

They never came to any kind of formal agreement. Nate was just there, every night when she came home from Sullivan’s, every day when she returned from subbing at the elementary school. He still worked at the mill with Lester and the rest. At five-thirty each evening, Lillian heard the deep rumble of his truck at the end of the street, then his heavy step on the porch, then the resistant whine of her screen door. Oddly, he always knocked before twisting the knob and entering - a polite rap that emanated from a place low on the door, near the bottom of the window.

She discovered that Nate could do just about anything, from chopping wood to fixing her dishwasher. He didn’t ask permission, just went about handling things in his quiet way. If people from town noticed two cars perpetually parked at the end of her long, shaded lane, no one ever mentioned it to Lillian.

“Hey, uh, Nate…?” Lillian wandered into her living room one evening, about three months after the worst week of her life. She stopped and watched Nate; he stood on a step stool, painting her wall. She’d chosen blue for the living room. He meticulously brushed color around the white trim with slow, careful strokes.

“What?” he asked, lowering the brush.

Lillian looked at him a long time, then shook her head.

“Nothing,” she murmured. She realized suddenly that she loved him, but it seemed like saying something would ruin it.

Nate gave her a tiny smile, his deep-set eyes twinkling. It was in fact her favorite smile, the one he saved for Lester’s best jokes and her corresponding laughter. Lillian felt her heart flutter as he turned away and resumed painting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is all I can write. To be honest, I have a bit of sappy stuff, but it was veering into more mature/explicit territory, which I don't write and definitely don't publish, so I think this is all I can do for Lillian and Nate. I like the idea of a more off-beat happily ever after for them, anyway.


End file.
